What I’m reading: The Burgess Boys by Elizabeth Strout


“But in glimpses of herself–shouting at Steve, at Zach–she recognized her own mother, and Susan’s face burned with shame. She had never seen what she saw now: that her mother’s fits of fury had made fury acceptable, that how Susan had been spoken to became the way she spoke to others. Her mother had never said, Susan, I’m sorry, I should not have spoken to you that way. And so years later, speaking that way herself, Susan had never apologized either.

And it was too late. No one wants to believe something is too late, but it is always becoming too late, and then it is.”

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